Il Mutor
by Ari the Dodecahedron
Summary: Erik was ready to give up in the months after the chandelier fell. One thing kept him going: the silent piano prodigy who wandered into his lair. But the circus is determined to find her. With only one another to rely on, can they evade the circus and complete his masterpiece before the Masquerade?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: For anyone reading _A December to Remember_, I apologize. Writer's block is my worst enemy. However, that should be updated within a week or so. Besides, this plot bunny has something against me. This will probably be a collection of drabbles after the first ten chapters or so, but still. I hope no one minds the short chapters, but I have trouble writing long things.**

**Disclaimer: The normal. Even though I hope to someday star on Broadway, that's probably not going to happen.**

Erik POV

Slowly, gently. I scribble words on my page, determined to write down Christine's song. One last deed, I have decided. I will give it to Antoinette Giry in the morning. That will be the last they will hear of me, the man they call the Phantom.

The music is playing in my mind, so loud that I cannot hear the water lapping against the shore. Rarely does my head go so far ahead of my hands, but I must get the music out of my mind.

Louder than the music, I hear a crash.

Standing up, I walk to the shore of the lake. "Madame Giry?" I call, wary. She has a signal-specific tapping-which she would have done if it was her. I look around one last time.

A hand breaks the surface of the water as I watch. I might be a murderer, but only to achieve my own purpose. And this hand is small, so small I suspect it is a child. I dive into the water, swimming out to the place where I saw the hand.

I lift the child to the surface, already beginning to swim back. "You're safe," I whisper as they struggle against me. They continue to fight, however, until we reach shore.

Climbing out, I lay the child down on the bank. A young girl, from the looks. Her hair is cut short, however, so short that she almost appears to be a boy. She doesn't seem much older than ten years of age.

"Shh." I rub her back as she coughs up water. I can't be sure of what to do, but as she starts to breathe slower, I lift her up and place her in the boat to sleep. She is absolutely exhausted, I can already tell. As she curls up, I consider searching for Antoinette, just to try and figure out where the girl came from. But I stop when I notice a small mark on her left forearm. Freezing for a single moment, I pull up my own sleeve and examine the faded mark. The carrier pigeon, the symbol the circus branded its youngest members with, in case they were to run off. Why she was in the circus, I cannot be sure. But I do know one thing: Antoinette Giry must be told.

I sit down at my desk, picking up my pen and scribbling a message on one of the few blank sheets of paper I can find.

Giry-

I found a girl. A runaway. She has the mark of the circus branded on her arm, and she nearly drowned while wandering down here. She is still a child. Any information about her would be useful.

-Erik

P.S. The child is thin, but she does not appear to be injured after her swim. However, I would prefer if you could come down and check on her yourself. I will be in attendance at tomorrow's matinee in Box 5, so you may leave me a note with the time and location you would like me to meet you in that place.

I blot the final line before folding it carefully and putting the wax seal on it. Looking out to where the girl is still asleep, I grab a hunk of bread from my pantry before taking the note up through one of my tunnels. The evening performance is already underway, so I put the note on Antoinette's desk and go back to my lair, not wishing to reveal myself to the crowd while entering Box 5.

It seems that I am not meant to disappear yet, after all.

**Reviews are adored like the Phantom loves Christine!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Never expect two updates in a row from me. This plot bunny has word fleas, though, and is itching for me to write.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anyone but Abby.**

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><p>The break of dawn in my lair has never been any different from the night. But this morning, it is indeed different.<p>

I got up an hour earlier as the music box rang out. Christine's song has played through my mind all night, and I finally have the last harmony decided. So before I even consider eating or dressing, an hour is dedicated to my music.

As I finish, a scream rings out.

I stand, fixing the mask as I run outside. The girl is standing at the edge of the lake, looking around. When her eyes land on me, however, she backs into the water.

"You're safe." As she shakes her head, I pull up my sleeve. "Look. I escaped." She freezes, coming out of the water very slowly. Lifting her own arm, she cocks her head.

"Yes. It's faded. I've been here for years. You don't have to worry." The girl approaches me, tapping the mask with one hand in a questioning manner. I kneel down, knowing that she'll have seen far worse in the circus. Slowly, as her hands slip under the mask, it lifts up. I allow her to remove it fully, and she smiles slightly upon seeing my true face.

"What about you?" I whisper. She shakes her head, slipping the mask back into place. "Tell me," I urge her.

She looks me in the eye. Walking over to the organ, she opens Don Juan Triumphant-or at least, what I have written of it. Her hands move quickly over the keyboards, and music far more complex than what I have written for the simpletons in the orchestra resonates in the cavern. She plays a few minutes' worth of the music before I stop her.

"So that is the good of it. What, then, is the bad?" She stares at me for a full minute. Suddenly, it clicks as she raises her hand to her lips. "You're mute."

She nods, looking at the keyboard. She plays four notes: a, two distinct b's, and an e which she holds for four beats. She then looks at me.

"Your name?" I guess. She nods. "Hello, Abby. My name is Erik. Can you write?" She nods, smiling. "Follow me. I have paper." She runs after me, back to the cave.

As I sit down, she climbs up into my lap. Once I dip the pen in the ink, she takes it from me and begins writing.

_My name is Abby Williams. I was born in London, but my parents knew I was different. They gave me to the gypsies after finding out that, even though I was only four and could not speak, I could already play the piano when my mother was rehearsing her music. The gypsies then discovered that I had already taught myself to write. They put me on display, and I was with them for four years. I finally escaped last month just before they left Paris. I wandered, knowing they had left scouts to try and find me. When I saw the Opera, I snuck past the doorman. I saw your tunnel and followed it down here. However, as you now know, I cannot swim. You understand. _

It shocks me that a child is writing with such precision and vocabulary. However, I just witnessed it. I can barely remember when I was so young-I believe that was around the time the gypsies started to punish me if I did not perform. It was only a few years later, however, when I built the maze of mirrors. If I were to give little Abby an education, I can't imagine how advanced she may someday be.

But current matters are far more pressing. The green dress Abby is wearing is wet at the bottom, and the shoulders are ripped. "If I could find some of my old clothes, Abby, would you mind wearing them for a day or two?" She smiles, shrugging. I excuse myself as she waits patiently.

A few minutes later, I return with my clothes from when I was younger. "You're lucky I was small, Abby. These clothes will probably fit you pretty well." She smiles, and I step outside as she changes. When she exits after a few minutes, I redo a couple of the buttons on her shirt before getting some bread for us to share.

When we finish, Abby sets off on her own for a few minutes as I put the finishing touches on Christine's song. I finish, and look around for her. She's disappeared, though, so I call for her. After a few seconds, she comes back into sight carrying three rats. She stops at the keyboard, playing _F D_. Food.

I doubt she's ever had any good-quality meat.

**Please review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I've been dreadfully sick for the past week...and now my soprano voice is dreadful, even though I've got auditions for the POTO medley in chorus this coming week. But at least I'm updating.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own POTO or anything related to it.**

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><p>Chapter Three<p>

"There is a performance at four o'clock, Abby. Would you like to attend?" She nods eagerly.

We have just finished lunch. For about an hour before we ate, I attempted to gauge the extent of her knowledge. Because of her time in the circus, her numerical sense is not nearly as advanced as most children her age. Her only true skills are in language and music. However, these are very advanced. I leave her at the organ, smiling.

I sit down to write a note to Antoinette for when she checks the box after the show. Because of the trouble with the chandelier, the performances are still rare. She wouldn't mind if I gave her a few little errands to run. So I list the basic things for Abby: a few dresses, possibly some thread so I can fix my clothes in case she prefers them. I also ask her to see about finding some quality meat so Abby can understand the good offerings of Paris. My final request is for appropriate books for a child her age, but still advanced enough to satisfy her. I have plenty of music for her to play, and my mathematical knowledge should be sufficient. I enclose four hundred francs, more than enough to cover the cost, because I know Antoinette has struggled since the chandelier's destruction lowered her pay. I owe her some form of compensation, the one woman decent enough to help me.

By the time I have finished, it is three o'clock. Abby has snuck in behind me, and watches as I seal the letter. CAN WE GO? she writes on a scrap of paper, her eyes pleading.

I sigh. "Fine." She runs off, beaming as she grabs the small jacket I gave her. I watch her, wondering what it feels like to be a child. Abby escaped the circus before her best years were over. Possibly, once she enjoys herself enough with meaningless play on her own, she might allow me to indulge in the fun.

I lead her on a meandering path through my tunnels, up into the box. She's still smiling, and bounces in her seat as we wait the final few minutes. While she's distracting herself, I read Antoinette's note. She says to pick her up in exactly twenty-four hours in Box Five, since it's an easy place for both of us to find. I put my note in its place, then turn and sit with Abby on my lap. She settles down quickly enough once the show has begun.

After a few minutes, however, she looks at me questioningly. I have her trace the letters of her sentence into my palm.

_What is it called?_

"Il Muto."

_Translate, please. I barely know other languages still. And how do you spell it?_

"I, L, M, U, T, O. The Mute."

_Should end with an R. Sounds better._

I laugh silently. "Oh, Abby." We watch more of the performance, but at intermission, Abby coughs. Three coughs. One patron in the audience who turns to the box. Ten seconds before I hear someone at the door.

I scoop up the child in my arms and run to the hidden doorway. Closing it most of the way behind us, I put her down and look back at the managers in the box. I silently shut the door the rest of the way before helping Abby stand.

_Sorry_, she traces into my palm while walking.

"There is no need to apologize, child. I have sneezed in there countless times. It is fine." She nods, apparently unconvinced.

As we make our way back down to the lair, Abby continues to cough. I resort to carrying her for the second half of our journey. Our arrival back at dinnertime doesn't seem to elicit any response from her, so I lay her down in my bed as I boil water for soup. Adding some of her rat meat and a few breadcrumbs, I step in again to see her.

"Abby? Are you hungry?" She nods weakly, smiling. I offer her a half-filled bowl, which she accepts gratefully. Slowly, she eats, coughing in between bites.

"Are you sick from your swim, or something else?" I ask. She holds up a single finger in response. I sit next to her, rubbing her back gently as she finishes the small meal.

"Sleep, child. I will be just outside." Abby smiles at me, snuggling down beneath the blankets.

I walk to my desk, thinking of the music I could teach her. Looking over to the score of Don Juan Triumphant, I smile. I sit for only a minute before scribbling down another song.

**Please review!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry about the delayed update, everyone. The one rule I've learned is you should never write about a silent character getting sick, because you will then lose your voice, and with it, your plot ideas.**

** Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize.**

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><p><strong>Chapter Four<strong>

**Erik POV:**

As morning arrives, I check once more on my young guest. Abby barely got any sleep during the night, due to her coughing. But it has begun to fade away in the last hour, and I smile when I see her sleeping form curled on the bed.

I walk to the pantry, taking a small piece of cheese and spreading it on a slice of bread. My true breakfast will wait until Abby is awake. But I take the remaining broth from last night and start a fire to warm it up.

I sit back down to work, but my distraction from Abby's illness has left me with nothing to write. I slowly brainstorm lyrics, and after a few minutes, I have a preliminary verse and chorus.

That's when the pen is snatched out of my hand.

I whirl around to see Abby standing there, going over what I just wrote and changing the occasional word. "You should be in bed," I mutter, picking her up.

She squirms our of my grip, grabbing a piece of paper. _I'm fine_, she writes. _I just needed a night's rest._

Abby turns back to my music, editing it for a few minutes as I stand watching. Finally, she holds it up.

I nod. "Go play it. Let's see how it sounds."

She runs off. I stand with my eyes closed, listening as she begins to play. Her first three notes are distinctive: C, F, E. After that, they all begin to blend together into a pure melody.

I stand entranced for nearly three minutes, until Abby falters and misses a beat. I open my eyes, looking at her. She has grabbed the pencil from my stand and is editing the next segment of my music.

"That can wait until you've had breakfast and changed into some clean clothes. Madame Giry will be coming by this afternoon, and I expect you to look presentable." Abby nods, but remains where she is. "Abby, this instant, or I will have to carry you." The girl glares at me, rolling her eyes and continuing her work.

I walk over to her. "Now." I lift her up despite her struggling and carry her to her room. I know her limits; anyone who knows the Gypsies knows how they punish misbehavior. I realize quickly, however, that she'll be too scared if I bring back memories of her childhood. I put her on her bed, pinning her down gently.

"Next time I say that you have to do something, Abby, you don't hesitate." Eyes wide, she nods. I let her sit up. "You should realize that I would teach you a lesson if not for the Gypsies. Next time, I won't hesitate. But I will let you have your way this time, as long as you dress and eat now. " Abby takes her clothes off of the table, and looks at me. I hear a single cough as I step out, and I glance back, worried. Abby is ignoring me, unconcerned with her sickness.

I cut Abby some bead and cheese, and pour a bowl with a small amount of broth for her. The thought of punishing the child has made my hunger disappear. I wait until she comes out, dressed in a white shirt and soft trousers, slightly large on her. She tucks the shirt in as she approaches, eying me warily.

"Eat. Then you can stay in your room until Madame Giry arrives." Abby nods, a faint smile on her face. She eats quickly, and soon runs back to her room.

I work for the remainder of the wait. I don't hear a single sound from Abby for a while. However, just as I am preparing to leave, I hear her knock at her door. I open it, expecting her to lunge at me in retaliation. Instead, she takes my hand, scribbling furiously.

_Am I to stay here waiting?_

"Yes, Abby. But we took the long path to get up there yesterday. I will be back very soon." She nods.

I shut the door again. Donning my hat and cloak, I take the boat across the lake to the shortest route. I climb up to the box, arriving a minute before Antoinette.

When she shuts the door to the box behind her, I notice the three parcels tucked away in her coat. "Monsieur, I am sorry if I am late. The items I had to find couldn't be brought into the opera house previously, for fear of someone noticing."

"It is alright, Antoinette. I myself have only just arrived." She sighs in relief as I open the door and we make our way back to the lair.

When we arrive, I call for Abby. "You may come out now. We are back."

She peeks out of the entrance after a minute. I understand the fearful look on her face. _Who is this woman?_ she asks silently. _Is she to be trusted?_

"She is one of the two people, other than yourself, who has ever come to my home." _And lived_, I add silently.

But Abby trusts me, and that is a bond I am hesitant to break.

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><p><strong>Please review!<strong>


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I've got a double update for everyone! However, I will warn you now, the second does have a very small amount of corporal punishment, of which there is no description at all. The chapter is very important, so I have marked off the paragraph for anyone who is still worried.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

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><p>Erik POV:<p>

"Why does she walk on her toes?" Antoinette mutters, glancing at me. "Besides, I thought you said it was a girl. The hair-"

"Yes, and her name is Abigail Williams," I say irritably. "She is perfectly intelligent, and I would suggest speaking to her directly." Abby is closer now, close enough to hear every word. I don't recognize the look on her face, but it resembles fear.

She holds out a scrap of paper. Hello, it says. Thank you for your concern; however, you will soon discover that I am fine.

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," Antoinette says, kneeling down. "I know that you may not realize it, but the way you walk could hurt you someday." Abby shrugs, looking at me and putting her fist to her lips.

"The coughing hurts?" I guess. She nods, and I look over at Madame Giry. "Would you mind?"

"I'll certainly make sure it's nothing serious, if that is what you are asking, Erik." She offers Abby her hand as she stands up, and the girl leads her to her room.

I watch them walk away, Abby on her toes. Giry is right: she could easily sprain her ankle if she steps on uneven ground.

I open the parcels I took from Antoinette. Venison, good. Abby will love that. Clothes that look suitable enough for her, black and white thread to fix up my clothes. And something I know she will love: Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, along with the sequel, Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There. I smile beneath the mask, knowing that Abby will enjoy herself plenty in the weeks to come.

I begin to cook the meat in the pot, taking bread out to go with it. Abby's stomach might not be able to handle everything, I remind myself, so I refrain from offering her cheese.

When Antoinette finally comes out, I look at her. "Perhaps you would like to join us?" I ask, cutting the bread. Abby runs over, still on her toes, and peeks into the pan, grinning. She grabs a slice of bread and sits down.

Antoinette sighs. "She has just as many scars as you, Erik. But her cough should go away within a few days. I'm sorry, but I cannot stay for supper. Meg has a large rehearsal this evening, and I would not want to miss her performance. I can find my own way up, thank you." She nods at me, glancing at Abby. I know what she is thinking: how does the girl not want a mother? Giry is by far the best person to fill the role that I have ever encountered, but the girl just ignores her.

As Antoinette walks away, Abby tears into her bread. Looking at me, she wiggles happily.

"Try the meat," I insist, handing her a fork. She puts it down on the edge of her plate, tracing I can't grip it into my palm. I nod, and she holds the meat in her hands, licking and nibbling it. She looks at me.

"Do you like it?" I ask. She nods. "Then don't worry about rationing it, no matter how hard it is. We can get more any time you would like it." Her face lifts as she gets excited, finally taking a large bite. "Not too fast, Abby," I warn her. "I don't want you getting sick."

We sit on the shore of the lake, eating and relaxing, for nearly half an hour before I ask her which clothes she would like to wear more often. She points at the ones she has on, to which I nod, planning on fixing more of mine.

As she gets up to go back to her room, I slip the books inside her jacket. I don't expect her to notice, but she proves she has learned from the Gypsies when she freezes and looks at me.

"See what it is," I suggest, my smirk invisible beneath the mask. Abby obliges, removing the books. She stares at the covers for a few seconds before launching herself at me.

I instinctively reach beneath my coat for the Punjab, but she pulls away, running to her room. Suddenly, I realize what that was: a hug.

Abby hugged me.

I get up and follow her, hardly knowing what is happening. I have never felt such affection before, not even from my own mother. But Abby has seen my face; she knows that I have no one to love me. She is everything I have lacked in life. Christine may be my lover, but Abby is my child.

We go about the rest of the day normally, Abby reading both books by the time I force her to eat something. She eats a few bites before scribbling into my palm, Is it alright if I go to bed? I smile, nodding. She gets changed and goes to sleep quickly, a habit that probably stems from the Gypsies getting only a few hours of sleep each night.

I don't bother to sleep. Instead, I go over what Abby changed in my music this morning, and slowly come to the realization that Abby is more like me than I realized.

Abby is a prodigy.

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><p><strong>AN: Like it? Hate it? Let me know in a review!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I've marked off the punishment section for anyone who is worried. This chapter is still important to the story. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

After Abby has been asleep for a few hours, I open her door to check on her. She is lying perfectly still, and her eyes are moving under her eyelids.

She's dreaming.

I quickly put one hand on her shoulder. I know that I shouldn't wake her; she needs her rest. But I also know that the Gypsies will have left her with just as many mental scars as physical.

My fears are confirmed when I feel her silently sobbing beneath me.

"Shh, Abby. Wake up, I murmur, making sure the mask is on perfectly. She may have accepted my face when she first saw it, but a nightmare will only worsen my appearance.

I carefully lift her up so she is leaning against me as I sit down on the bed. "Abby, you need to wake up."

All of a sudden, she jerks away from me. "Abby, it's Erik. Are you alright?"

Abby freezes, then slowly nods. Leaning against me, she traces I'm sorry into my palm.

"Don't be, Abby. I came in to check on you. Would you like to go back to sleep?" She shakes her head, and I help her up.

"Until I fix more of my clothes, you'll have to wear a dress, alright?" She glares at me, shaking her head. Running to my desk, she scribbles something on a piece of paper.

I can't handle it. Wash them, please. She runs back into her room and hands me the bundle of clothes. Considering how little time she spent in bed, the night is young. I agree with a single condition: she must explain why she was wearing a dress when she arrived.

It was all I had time to steal.

"Steal?" I ask, bewildered. Most Gypsy children spend years learning before they get decent, and few can steal anything of value before their tenth birthday.

Abby nods in response to my question, smiling. "There will be no more of that, child. You'd best behave yourself." She rolls her eyes, brushing by me and heading back inside her room (probably to reread her books, I think to myself).

I wash the outfit quickly and hang them next to the fire, wanting to return to my music. I knock on Abby's door to let her know that they're drying, and receive a response of quiet clapping. I sit down at my desk and reach into my pocket for my pen.

It's not there.

I grumble, searching beneath my papers and throwing a few stacks onto the floor. It's still nowhere to be found. I have used this pen for three years now, only using others when the nibs for this one break and I have other sizes ready. But my music has not been written with anything else.

Suddenly, I remember: Abby brushed up against my left pocket when she went into her room. She was mad because I said she had to stop stealing.

She wouldn't dare.

I open her door, hoping that my mask hides my face well enough that she can't see my expression. "Abby, have you seen my pen? I thought I had it." She shakes her head, a flawless look of innocence visible. I almost go back to my desk, but as I turn away, I see her eyes shine.

"Abigail Williams!" I roar, spinning back towards her. She shrinks back against her headboard as I approach, her eyes showing the fear I know she is feeling. She suddenly bolts past me, trying to get away.

"Yeah, you better run," I mutter, jogging after her.

I catch her as she is untying the gondola from its post. Lifting her up with one hand, I throw her over my shoulder and carry the struggling child back to her room.

**Punishment begins. **

"Quiet, Abigail," I say as I put her down. "I told you what would happen if you continued to misbehave." I give her one swift smack. "There will be more next time." She nods frantically, scrambling away.

**Punishment ends.**

"Where is the pen?" I ask. She points at the bedside table, and I open the drawer, finding my pen at the front.

"Stay here until I come in. I'll take the books." She nods, handing them over reluctantly.

I walk out, closing the door behind me. I hope that she is still trusting of me.

I work on my music until her clothes have dried by the fire. I believe it has been long enough for her, so I give her the books with her clothes.

Thank you, she writes in my palm.

She still trusts me.

I am about to start breakfast half an hour later when Abby comes out. I look at her. "I thought I said to stay put?"

She nods, but puts her hand out for the pen. I load it with ink before giving it to her.

If you're the Phantom, then who am I?

I look at her, wondering how she learned about me. Antoinette, I think to myself. "Well, who would you like to be, Abby?"

Il Mutor. Yes, with the R. I like it.

The Mute. The Phantom's adopted daughter.

Titles are everything to us.

**A/N: I said the misspelling was important, didn't I? Please review!**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Hope you enjoy the fluffy chapter ahead! Again, trigger warning section is marked off.**

**Disclaimer: I own only Abby.**

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><p>As the next few weeks pass, Abby grows stronger and learns skills she will need to be able to sneak around the opera house. The most difficult of these will be walking silently through the rafters.<p>

The first thing I do to help her is set up six metal poles in two groups, tying three twenty-foot long ropes between them. Two of the ropes will serve as handrails until she is steady enough to take one away, then the other.

Once it is set up, Abby comes out of my library. She spends most of her time in there now, only coming out when I tell her to. She is studying architecture as far as I know, but I also have the vague suspicion that she may be teaching herself to speak. Once or twice in the past two weeks, one of my ventriloquism books has been in the wrong spot on the shelf.

I help her climb into place, stepping up behind her to make sure she doesn't fall. Her hair has begun to grow out, and I can now see that it is dark blond, not brown like she had dyed it just before she arrived.

"Forward," I command once she has gained her balance. She takes a few cautious steps, gripping both handrails. "Faster," I urge, putting one hand on her shoulder to help her. She freezes for a moment under my touch before jogging forward, left hand trailing on the rope.

"That's it," I call, stepping down. Abby reaches the end and runs back to me on the rope.

**Trigger warning for injury.**

_Lower the ropes,_ she signs in our new language. We spent a week developing it so she could communicate with me from a distance.

"One for now. Which one will you keep?" She taps the left rope. She is the only other person I have met who does many things with their left hand despite the religious stigma. Of course, she can write with either hand, but her left hand is clearly more fluent.

I lower the right handrail, and she steps forward at her average speed. When she reaches the halfway point, I notice the rope under her feet beginning to sag. "Stop, Abby," I call, but she doesn't heed my warning.

The rope comes undone at the far end, and as I run forward, Abby falls the foot to the ground.

"Abby!" She points to her shoulder as I arrive next to her. _Dislocated,_ I think to myself. She was still gripping the handrail when she landed. Her tears confirm the pain she is in.

I kneel next to her, moving quickly. The sooner I can help her, the better off I know she will be. "Shh," I whisper, cradling her as she sobs. All of a sudden, I move her shoulder back into place, eliciting a sigh of relief.

"It's alright, Abby. Just be careful." She nods, her eyes closed as we stand and walk back to the house.

**Warning complete.**

"Thank you."

I freeze, staring at her. "You're welcome, Abby. When did you teach yourself?"

"Last week," I hear, but her jaw doesn't move. I can hardly tell she is speaking. "Your books proved very useful."

"Ventriloquism? That's the only way you can speak?" I confirm.

"Yes, but this is still tiring. I prefer to sign and stay silent." She looks up at me, and I brush her bangs out of her eyes with one hand absentmindedly.

"Why don't we get something to eat to celebrate?" I ask, surprised by her sudden progress at nearly nine years old.

She nods. "Pastries?"

I laugh. "Alright. Go write down what you would like, but don't forget bread. We're almost out." Abby smiles, running to my desk and scribbling on a sheet of paper. In the meantime, I grab our coats and hats. As Abby finishes writing, I tuck her hair into her hat and help her into her coat before donning my own.

After crossing the lake, we climb the staircase to the street level. Abby leads the way to her favorite bakery, which we discovered last week. The light drizzle gives me an excuse to put my hood up over my hat.

When we arrive, I give her money after glancing at her list and calculating the price. She comes out a few minutes later holding two boxes, one of which I take from her. We hurry back, trying to avoid getting wetter than necessary as the rain begins to come down harder.

As I open the door, Abby freezes, glancing toward the street. I follow her gaze, spotting a tiny tan kitten attempting to climb out of the mud.

_Please?_ Abby signs. Knowing I will never hear the end of it if I don't help the animal, I hand Abby my box. I walk to the kitten and lift it up, failing to avoid dirtying my gloves. _It can't hurt to get the mud off now,_ I tell myself. When its face remains brown despite my light rubbing, I freeze. I try the cat's paws next, achieving the same result.

The cat is Siamese.

I carry it inside, Abby shutting the door behind us. How a cat never meant to leave Persia ended up alone on a Paris street, I may never know. But Abby needs company while she is studying, and a kitten will be perfect for her.

On the trip back to the lair, I try to think of a good name. As we arrive, I suggest to Abby a name to remind her of her new life with me. She accepts it, trying it out quietly as she takes the kitten from my arms.

"Ayesha."

* * *

><p><strong>Enjoy? Please review or PM me with ideas! The plot bunny for this bit is nearly fulfilled, and the sequel bunny has been born! I still have to write another month or two of these drabbles in 1881-time, so help is thoroughly appreciated.<strong>


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